Their Secret Weapon, their Prized Possession
by Computer Gremlin
Summary: The US Secret Service needs to hide one of their best and most highly prized operatives until they can ensure her safety and they have turned Britten's Intelligence community for help. But are Mycroft and his little brother Sherlock, ready to handle this feisty 'American' even with her handicap?
1. Chapter 1

**Author Notes**

This is a cross over story between Sherlock and Torchwood with a few references to Warehouse 13. It involves my own original character and is told from her Point of View. Please bear in mind that it is written by and American and primarily from the POV of an American (OK a pseudo American) so please be kind/patient.

Malayna took in a deep breath, held it for several heart beats then let it out slowly, mentally running through the series of Tai Chi Forms she was about to begin. The slowly performed movements and ritual breathing were meant to put one into a meditative state and calm the mind and body, which was exactly what she needed right now. She was a master of several of the martial arts but Tai Chi was by far the most effective when it came to settling her nerves or quieting her mind. Today had proven to be one of those days when her mind just refused to be stilled. She was obsessing on all the things she was being denied only because they were being denied her and it was frustrating.

She drew another long breath and began her first Form, concentrating on its movements and breathing and trying to push aside all other thoughts.

She was the one who was always in control of any given situation, and when she wasn't, she found it intolerable. She could be strong, arrogant, aloof and demanding, or she could be quiet, charming, cooperative, and disarming. She could be whatever the circumstances called for, whatever was going to get her the results she desired. She could put a person at ease and have them trusting her unconditionally, before they even knew why. She could read a person's facial expressions, their body language and know if they were telling the truth, or if they were being deceptive. She was, as she put it, always on point, always in control.

So it was understandable that ever since the accident that had temporarily taken her eyesight, Doctor Malayna Avonell had been on edge, to say the least. And as far as she was concerned, nearly ten months was not temporary. Then the death threat had come. But she had refused to take it seriously and that had made her superiors very unhappy with her. She took far too many risks, and when a sniper's bullet had almost taken her down, her Control had finally had enough of her defiance and made arrangements to hide her away for a while until they could get things back in order. Malayna was simply too valuable an asset to risk losing and without her sight she was too vulnerable to be allowed to have her own way.

So for the last three weeks she had been cooped up in this hotel suite somewhere in the UK, curtains drawn, sequestered alone without companionship and she was going absolutely crazy. For three weeks she had not had a breath of fresh air, or felt the sun on her face or had one moment when she had not had someone watching over her. Even now although she was alone in her suite of rooms, there were guards just beyond the walls, and she was sure there were cameras watching her every move. So when the door open and she heard someone pushing a room service cart into the room it really didn't surprise her, but it did however, annoy her.

A young waitress pushing a tea trolley followed by a tall distinguished man in an impeccable three piece suit entered the room. The door was closed behind them but they waited patiently for Malayna to stop before moving further into the room.

The man smiled as he watched her move through the Form admiring the precision and accuracy of her movements. Her thick raven black hair was pulled back and loosely fastened into a ponytail by a length of suede ribbon, beyond which soft waves of hair cascaded at least twelve inches below the nape of her neck. Her complexion was what most people would describe as peaches and cream and was nearly flawless. Her eyes were a color somewhere between azure and cobalt blue and even though they could no longer see the world around her, still held a quality that spoke of understanding and perception. Her lips were full and expressive and when she smiled it was captivating. She was a small woman barely five feet two inches tall, but her diminutive stature hid a powerful and lithe body, but she was a beautiful woman.

Not the kind you would find in the pages of a fashion magazine, or on a movie screen, she was a more practical, everyday kind of beautiful. The kind that a man would watch as she walked passed him on the street. The kind who would cause a man to receive a painful elbow jab in the ribs from a wife or girlfriend, because his eyes had lingered on her for just a few seconds too long.

He was not a man given to lusting after any woman, and it was certainly not lust that he felt for this one. It was more like appreciation. He knew her reputation and he was getting to know her personality. If there had been room in his life for a relationship, and if he had been interested in one, this woman might well have been the one he would have chosen.

She stopped and straightened up.

"Tea, Doctor?" The man's voice was familiar to her by now. He had been visiting her at least twice a week and although he had told her his name each time, she referred to him only as the 'Spook', mainly because she knew it annoyed him.

"A Gentleman would knock and wait to be invited in, before entering a Lady's room," she remarked coldly, turning to face her guests, "but then again, you are not a Gentleman."

"Nor are you a Lady." He retorted gently, indicating to the girl pushing the tea trolley that she should continue on into the room. "So now that we have our insults out of the way Doctor Avonell, may we get down to business?"

They had been trading these small insults ever since his second visit and the banter had become more of a game than anything else, at least on the surface he suspected. He walked into the room and seated himself in a chair near the sofa as Malayna move cautiously to the sofa and seated herself before checking her position relative to the coffee table.

"Are they treating you well?" The man asked as he accepted a cup of tea from the waitress. "Is there anything you need?"

Malayna sighed, "I need to get out of here for a while." She stated flatly as the waitress placed a cup and saucer into her hands.

"We've been over this before, Doctor," he started his voice betraying his exasperation on this subject.

"Come on Spook," she cut him off, "I've been cooped up here by myself for three weeks! I've no one to talk to, except if you decide to drop by. TV's for the birds, you won't let me use the internet, and I board out of my mind!"

It was the man's turn to sigh. "You sound like my brother." He told her before taking a sip of his tea.

"I don't know your brother." She replied feeling for the coffee table and putting her tea cup down, untouched. "Do you keep him caged up too?"

"Be grateful you don't know him." her guest started, "Honestly, I wish I could allow you an afternoon outdoors, but it's just not possible. There are just too many risks involved. And your government would never stand. . . "

"Oh no!" Malayna cut in abruptly sitting forward, her voice sharp, her expression hard and her hands were clinched onto the edges of the sofa causing her fingers and knuckles to turn white from the ferocity of her grip, "don't make that mistake, they are not my government!"

The man looked up at her confused by her outburst. "Excuse me?" he said putting his tea aside.

"I am not an American citizen. I'm a possession, a thing to be owned, to be used, and nothing more." her voice laced with distaste.

"Don't be absurd." He replied calmly.

"No, you stop and think a moment. When you picked me up at the Air Force base, do you remember seeing a passport for me? Hmm? Did you see any paper work that might indicate that I was a citizen?" She paused for a moment allowing what she had said to sink in. "No there was none. I am the American Government's puppet, their 'secret weapon', their 'prized possession ', but never, never, a citizen. That would mean I had rights and they couldn't have that, now could they? Think about it, you know what I am."

There was a long awkward silence.

"I had no idea." His voice was barely more than a whisper.

"Well, now you do." She answered sitting back and crossing her arms over her chest. She was silent for a heartbeat then started slowly. "Look I do know someone or rather an organization that could provide protection for me."

"Oh really?" the man asked sounding amused.

Malayna nodded. "Are you familiar with," she paused not sure what his reaction was going to be, or if he was even aware of the existence of this organization although she didn't see how he would be, "Torchwood?"

"No!" He shot back making her jump. "Absolutely not! Malayna I'm aware of those people and they are dangerous."

"Captain Harkness and I have a kind of history," she tried to continue.

"Look, Malayna, those people are dangerous, they think of themselves as being above the law."

"Then you may also be aware that if anything does happen to me," she shouted, making him fall silent, "they are the only people this side of the Atlantic who will know anything about how to treat me."

There was another silence between the two of them, during which the waitress drew open the drapes covering the entrance to the balcony. There was a sudden hailstorm of bullets shattering the glass of the balcony doors.

Instinctively Malayna dove to the floor as the door to the hallway burst inward and several guards swarmed into the room returning fire. The exchange was brief but violent, leaving at least one guard and the waitress dead and several other guards wounded.

"Oh sweet God," Malayna screamed, "Mycroft! Mycroft are you alright? Answer me! For the love of . . . please, answer me."

**End Note**

I will try to post as quickly as I can, but life sometimes gets in the way. Let me know what you think.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary:**

**With Malayna's location compromised Mycroft must find somewhere to hide her. And in the meantime the assassin needs to be found and dealt with. **

He wasn't sure why he didn't answer her right away. Maybe it was the disbelief of what had just happened. Maybe it was the unfamiliarity of hearing her call him by his name. Maybe it was the chaos of the aftermath of the incident. Or just maybe, and it certainly wasn't something he was likely to admit to anyone, he just wanted to hear her call his name one more time. But when her hand closed around his wrist he had no more excuses.

"I'm alright," Mycroft told her. Looking up at her, his breath caught in his throat. There on her upper right arm a growing red stain indicated she had been hit, either by a bullet or some flying debris. He pulled himself up into a sitting position. "But I can see you are not."

Malayna shook her head as she also sat up. "At the risk of sounding trite, it's just a flesh wound. No real damage." She assured him.

Over the next few minutes so much happened so quickly, that Malayna wasn't sure she remembered it all. Her wound had been cleaned and dressed, her clothing had been changed, and she had been ushered out of the hotel via a back entrance and into an awaiting car and was now seated between Mycroft Holmes and his PA Anthea, driving through the streets of London to a destination she didn't know.

"So just where are you taking me?" She asked again, still trying to make sense of everything that had transpired in the last three quarters of an hour. And again her question was ignored.

Mycroft pulled his mobile phone from the inside pocket of his jacket and punched several of the buttons. "Everything arranged?" he directed his question to his PA.

"Yes," Anthea replied checking her own mobile. "Everyone and everything is in place."

"Please, can you stop ignoring me," Malayna sighed "and tell me what is going on?"

There was a long pause before anyone spoke again.

"It appears that the person or persons, who threatened you, have managed to find you again." Mycroft stated dryly.

"You think? Gees I'd have never guessed." She answered sarcastically, crossing her arms. "But where are we going? What's the plan? I have a right to know."

"Not necessarily," Mycroft told her sternly.

Malayna started to protest just as the car they were riding in swerved violently sending its passengers careening into one another. Malayna ending up sprawled across Mycroft's lap.

"Well, that was awkward," Malayna groused trying to extract herself from his lap gracefully, but he placed a hand on her back and held her down.

"What was that all about?" He snapped at the driver, as he applied more pressure to keep Malayna from sitting back up, "Stay down until I know it's safe!" he snarled at her under his breath.

"Let me up, Spook!" she returned hotly. She could sense that her safety was not the only reason he didn't want her to move from where she was and it was making her very uncomfortable. She had often suspected that there was more to just checking on her welfare that had been bringing him to visit her several times a week, but having never had any physical contact with him before now, it had only ever been speculation on her part. Now, however, there was a jumble of strange emotions emanating from him, none of which were making much sense. They seemed to run from a simple curiosity about her non-citizen status to a far more complex, (oh my God could that actually be) a physical attraction.

There was a squeal of tires on the road as the vehicle's wheels locked up from hard breaking, and it went into a skid. The second part of Newton's first law of motion (an object in motion continues in motion with the same speed and in the same direction unless acted upon by an unbalanced force) was brilliantly demonstrated. Mycroft was thrown over Malayna pinning her down, before his seat belt locked up (he was going to have a pretty nasty bruise from that), as he barked orders to the driver. Malayna was finding it hard to breathe with the added weight of Mycroft and now Anthea must have come in contact with them as even more feelings and emotions (panic, confusion, and fear) were added to the mix. It was getting almost too much for her to handle, it was sensory overload and she was losing which feelings belonged to whom, if she ever knew to begin with.

The sickening sound of crumpling metal and breaking glass filled the air, but it was with relief that Malayna realized that it was not from their vehicle. Their driver had skillfully managed to avoid the collision and was now gunning the engine and leaving the scene behind.

Mycroft straightened up, but continued to hold Malayna down. She tried again to get herself back into an upright position in a dignified manner but failed, he was stronger than he appeared. Throwing all caution to the wind, as it were, she grabbed his knee and dug her nails into the space between knee joint and knee cap and pushed herself upright. Mycroft let out an involuntary cry of pain.

"Get your grubby hands off me!" she spat dangerously, finally able to regain the sitting position she desired.

They rode for nearly five more minutes in silence. Malayna could hear the woman beside her still texting on her mobile phone and on the other side Mycroft's breathing was steady, but there was a definite tenseness about it that she took to mean that he was thoroughly annoyed with her. Well, it served him right as far as she was concerned. He still had not answered any of her questions to her satisfaction. Just about the time she had convinced herself to try asking where they were going again, the car glided to a stop.

"Anthea, if you would please get the front door open. I don't want the Doctor exposed any more than is necessary." Mycroft instructed the other woman. "And leave me your wrap if you would, please."

"Understood," Anthea replied as she removed the oversized shawl she was wearing before she slipped out of the car.

"Where are we?" Malayna asked as Mycroft draped the shawl around her in a manner that covered her head much like someone trying to stay dry in a rain storm.

"Somewhere safe, at least for now," he told her, reaching across her and releasing the lap belt around her. "Just try to keep your head down and move as quickly as possible. Let me guide you, don't use your cane for right now, I don't want to draw any more attention to you than is absolutely necessary."

"And this thing over my head is going to be inconspicuous?" She laughed as she heard his seat belt unfasten and the door pop open.

"Just cooperate with me, please?" he asked wearily as he slid out of the car, drawing her with him.

She seized her folded white cane and slid from the car after him allowing him to take her by one hand and tolerating his other hand around her waist as he guided her quickly across the side walk slowing only to allow her to navigate the two steps up into the building. Once inside and having heard the door close behind them, Malayna pulled the shawl off her and herself away from Mycroft with a huff.

"Just where the hell are we?" She hissed through gritted teeth in a low voice meant for only him to hear. She was aware of a number of other people in a relatively cramped area.

"I told you," Mycroft replied in a similar volume, "somewhere safe." He placed his hand around her right elbow, but she yanked her arm away causing considerable pain where she had taken the shrapnel hit earlier.

"What's wrong?" The voice came from a considerable height, so Malayna assumed that there must be a staircase in front of her, and she tipped her head up to the source of the voice. It was a warm and caring voice and appealed to her almost immediately.

"Ah, Doctor Watson," Mycroft addressed the newcomer, "Doctor Avonell has been injured, it's been dressed, but if you would please take a look at her, it would be appreciated."

"Of course," Doctor Watson answered. She could hear him descending the stairs. When he had reached the bottom step he spoke again. "Doctor Avonell? The stairs are fairly narrow and a bit uneven." He said gently, taking her left hand and wrapping it around his right forearm. "But we can take it slowly." He started leading her up the stairs allowing her to set the pace. "I'm John, by the way."

They started up the stairs, Doctor Watson in the lead, but he allowed Malayna to set the pace. She could hear voices from the floor above as the continued up the stairs and she knew that Mycroft was following John and herself closely. John had been right, the stairs were warn and uneven, but he wasn't hurrying her, and buy using the railing for support, she was able to navigate them successfully.

"Okay, last step, Doctor Avonell," John said, "and we will be on the landing. Then we will need to make a one hundred and eighty degree turn and up a few more steps."

"Please, call me Malayna," she corrected him softly as she moved her hand to the newel post and made the turn. But on the third step, she faltered and had to drop back a step.

Mycroft tried to keep her from falling; putting up a supporting hand, but his hand had made contact with her bum, where he had not meant to make contact. She whirled around instantly leaning down slightly so that their faces where only millimeters apart, their noses almost touching, and swatting his hand away from her.

"If you ever lay your hands on me like that again," she snarled through gritted teeth, enunciating each word separately and carefully, ramping up the volume with each one, "I swear Mycroft Holmes I will knock you into next week. Am. I. Understood?"

"Perfectly," he returned in a soft voice not meant to be heard by anyone beyond her and John Watson, and giving her a forced smile, even though he knew she could not see it, "next time I'll just let you fall."

"You just do that." She whispered dangerously before straightening up.

"Okay," John said softly, "let's be civil," helping Malayna to turn back around.

"Is there a problem?" A new voice asked, from slightly above them.

"No, it's just a minor misunderstanding, Detective Inspector Lestrade." Mycroft answered as the three of them reached the top of the steps.

Malayna took note of this new voice and realized there was at least one more voice she needed to identify. But she figured there would be time for that later, right now her right arm was starting to hurt again, and the sensation of dampness in the dressing meant she was probably bleeding again.

"We can use the bathroom, it will be less public," John told her quietly as he started to lead her forward.

"No please, wait a moment," she protested pulling against him gently. She was suddenly feeling a bit guilty about her behavior towards Mycroft Holmes. She realized her safety was really his primary concern and the other 'feelings' she had picked up on during the car ride could well have been miss interpretations on her part. It was easy to misread things during times of high stress and it was really unfair of her to 'read' him like that without his knowledge. "Mr. Holmes."

"Yes?" the response came from two distinct people, causing a slightly confused expression to flicker across her features for a brief moment.

"Um, Mycroft Holmes?" She clarified furrowing her brow, and extending her hand in the direction of the responses. After only a moment someone took it and she instantly knew it was Mycroft. She gave him a light squeeze. "Um, look, my behavior recently has been rude and unprofessional and you haven't deserved that. I apologize. Right now I'm just so far off point," she trailed off looking for the right words, "I am just so damned frightened. I hope I didn't hurt you too badly. I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted," he told her, releasing her hand.

A couple of minutes later, Malayna sat in the bathroom with her blouse off her right arm and turned so that her back faced the door which was still opened. She could hear John pulling on latex gloves as he prepared to examine her wound.

"Interesting tattoo," he commented casually as he slipped the second glove on.

She knew what he was referring to. On the back of her right shoulder was the tattoo she had received when she was a young girl, the insignia of the Klan to which she had belonged. It consisted of three intertwined winged lizards, which most people interpreted as dragons, one in red, the second in blue and the third in greed, forming a triangular Celtic knot which in turn was surrounded by a twisted circular vine in deep purple.

"Yes," she replied distantly, "I've thought about having it removed, but I've never gotten around to it."

"Is it significant of anything?" he asked touching her shoulder and leaning in to take a closer look. She jumped slightly. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you."

"Not to worry." She replied. "Yes, it the sign of the Klan I'm was a part of. Each," she hesitated for several beats, "dragon, represents a different aspect of a person. The blue is the body, the red is the mind and the green is the sole. The vine is the unified whole. It identifies me as a . . ." she trailed off into silence for a moment and then sighed deeply, "It identifies me as a Kel. I know it sounds kind of strange. But I'm not a part of that any more. It was something I was born into and I chose to leave it."

"Well," John said turning away from what was obviously something that should be left alone, "let's take a look at that arm."

Carefully he cut away the bandaging and exposed the wound. "Hmm," he muttered.

"Not good?" she asked turning her head toward him.

"It's deep." He noted. "And it appears they didn't get it completely cleaned out."

"Oh great," she heaved a long suffering sigh. She supposed it was to be expected, there hadn't been anyone on scene qualified and Mycroft hadn't wanted to call an ambulance.

"It's not going to be pleasant," John warned, "in fact it's going to hurt."

"I am a Doctor, Doctor." She informed him. "Just give me some warning and I should be able to handle it."

"Yeah, I was going to ask you about that." John replied as he removed a set of forceps from where they had been soaking in a chiorhexidine solution.

"Actually I have two MDs and three PhDs," she trailed off wincing slightly as John pulled the wound open. He was gentle, but it was still sore and once he had applied pressure to the skin to pull open the edges of the cut, she could feel that there was still debris embedded just below the surface.

"Sorry, but I'm going in," he informed her quietly. "So what are the degrees in?"

"Umm," her voice shook slightly and was higher than it had been before. "Emergency Medicine before going into Psychiatry," she sucked in a sharp breath through a clenched jaw as he used the forceps to reach inside and remove a sliver of metal.

"And the PhDs?" he asked trying to distract her, "There's another piece."

"Ah. . ." her voice had gone up another notch. "Information Technology with an emphasis on Artificial Intelligence and Astrophysics. . . Ow" she cried out as he dug out the second piece of shrapnel.

"Sorry, sorry, that's the last of it," he said letting go of her arm and dropping the last chunk of metal into the sink. "When was your last tetanus booster? And that was only two PhDs."

"Just this past April," she answered her voice still shaking "and you'll only laugh."

"No I won't," he promised. "I'm just going to clean this up and we will be done."

Malayna sighed. "Fine." She could feel that she was bleeding freely again and John was making quick work of cleaning the wound but after digging out the remaining shrapnel, the discomfort of this procedure as just that, discomfort.

"Well?" he prodded.

"OK," she groaned, "Parapsychology."

"You are kidding me," he chuckled "you're a Ghost Buster?"

"Look, I get board, I take classes," she retorted, "Some more ridiculous then others I admit. I'd hate to tell you about the Masters degrees."

"Well, I guess it beats shooting the wall," John laughed.

"Doing what?" Malayna said shifting where she sat turning toward John, and managing to grasp his wrist, pressing her first two fingers into his pulse point. She didn't have to push in on his mind to obtain an image of what John had been talking about; he had nearly been broadcasting it.

There was a moment of silence between the two of them before they both dissolved into laughter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary:**

**With Malayna now at Backer Street the plot begins to "thicken" as they say. And if you are paying attention, things aren't adding up the way you'd think they should.**

**Author's Notes:**

**Two new things are to be noted here. First words that appear italicized and unescorted such as **_**so-caw-rah**_** are not English; in fact they are not even from Earth. They are pronounced phonetically, exceptions will be noted. Secondly the word Cim is actually an acronym CIM (Central Intelligence Matrix) and is pronounced as if it were spelt Kim.**

When John led Doctor Avonell back into the lounge, Mycroft was speaking in hushed tones with Anthea by the stairs and Lestrade and Sergeant Donavan were talking over by the windows, leaving Sherlock alone in the kitchen.

"Is everything good?" Mycroft questioned, looking up at John as they drew near, dismissing Anthea with a slight wave of his hand.

"Yes," John nodded, "the wound could use at least one stitch, but it's clean and shows no sign of infection."

"Please, gentleman no hospitals?" Malayna whined, "I really don't want to be poked and prodded like some damn lab rat and it always ends up that way."

"And that would be why?" Sherlock asked reentering the lounge from the kitchen.

Malayna shifted sharply toward the fourth and yet unidentified voice. Her brow furrowed and eyes narrowed, at the deep baritone voice. "I'm a bit of a medical anomaly, if you must know." She stated offhandedly. "And you are . . . ?" she trailed off expectantly her tone carrying the hard edge of authority.

"Sherlock Holmes," he introduced himself moving forward and extending his hand to her.

"Ah," she responded, understanding blossoming across her face, "that's why I got two answers." She tilted her head in Mycroft's direction. "Brothers I take it." It was more a statement then a question.

"Yes," Mycroft answered moving to stand beside her. "He has offered to shake hands." He explained softly to her.

Sherlock's eyebrows rose slightly, but before he could respond with what everyone in the room would expect would have been a sarcastic comment if not an outright insult, Malayna extended her own hand and spoke, a touch of blush rising in her cheeks.

"My apologies," she said earnestly, "I meant no disrespect." There was a moment of awkward silence.

"She's blind, Sherlock." Mycroft informed him in an exasperated voice meant only for his brother to hear.

Nodding he took Malayna's hand and shook it once, then suddenly released it and staggered back a short step. Just as their hands had met she had extended her index and middle fingers and pressed them firmly into the pulse point of his wrist. She had tried brushing up against his mind just enough to read he's basic demeanor, but apparently he had been able to sense it and she had had to break the attempt abruptly.

_OK,_ she thought to herself, _he can sense my intrusion. That means he has an above average IQ, oh wonderful._

She realized that any further attempt would require a fair amount of finesse; it was not a mistake she would be repeating any time soon.

"Well the good news is that the traffic accident seems to be unrelated to the sniper incident at the hotel." Lestrade announced as he joined the others and Donavan left the flat.

"Yes," Mycroft turned to face the Detective Inspector, "my sources have confirmed that as well."

"Ok, so let me get this straight," Lestrade started. Malayna struggled to remember who the voice belonged to. She smiled, recalling that Mycroft had addressed this one as Detective Inspector Lestrade. "Doctor Avonell is an American, here under British protection at the request of the US government and has just been the target of a sniper attack."

"That is correct, for the most part." Mycroft replied in his most diplomatic manner.

"Care to explain why?" The DI asked.

"That's on a need to know basis." Mycroft replied flatly.

"He needs to know." Malayna added emphatically, but it was almost as if she hadn't spoken as far as Mycroft was concerned. He wrinkled his nose slightly at her comment, a gesture that had been lost totally on the Doctor, but otherwise he had ignored her comment altogether.

"It would help if I knew what I'm dealing with," Lestrade protested, his annoyance more than a little evident in his tone as well as his manner.

Over the next several minutes the conversation had been rapid fire with people talking over one another to the point that Malayna had had trouble keeping up with any of it. She could only catch snatches of dialogue over the confusion of voices and layers of conversations. Lestrade and Mycroft were at odds over how much the DI needed to know, Sherlock kept making observations about her and insulting his brother and Lestrade. John was, for the most part silent, although he had at one point tried to steer Malayna away from the melee but she had resisted, trying to keep track of things and to get a word in edge wise. But each time she tried, she was either ignored, or shushed and even once told to be quiet. About the only thing she was able to glean for the snippets of conversations was that this Sherlock was a bloody genius which was not going to make him easy for her to deal with.

"If I don't know the level of threat," Lestrade said in a barely controlled voice, "how can I provide the correct level of protection?"

"The Doctor's protection will be escalated up to MI5 if necessary." Mycroft informed him coldly.

"Then why the hell . . ." the older man started.

"OK, every one, just stop it right there." Malayna snapped trying to bring things under her control.

"From the speed and accuracy of her physical responses," Sherlock observed, "she has had training in more than one of the martial arts, including hand to hand combat. She seems quite capable of defending herself . . ."

"I'm standing right here, people." Malayna snarled loudly, tired of being ignored and treated as if she wasn't even there.

"Don't feel bad, you are not the only one he does that to." John said leaning closer to her so that the others wouldn't hear him. She grunted a response to him as the conversations continued at a fever pitch around her.

Suddenly Doctor Avonell's entire bearing seemed to change. She pulled herself up to her full five foot two inch height, her back became ramrod straight and every muscle in her body seemed ready to spring into action, her grip on the folded white cane so firm that her knuckles were turning white as well.

"**E-N-O-U-G-H!**" She bellowed, her voice carrying a commanding quality that they had not heard before now. "**I will not be trifled with!**" the room fell into stunned silence. "And you sir," she rounded on Sherlock, "will cease making assumptions about me. You have _no_ idea _who_ or **what** I am."

Sherlock open his mouth to rebut her outburst, but closed it again when he caught the reproachful look from his older brother.

"Dear God, will you people please stop ignoring me and get your acts together?" She sighed heavily. "You are about as useful as the warning on pack of cigarettes."

Sherlock started to respond, but was cut off by his older brother.

"Don't try to argue with her, Sherlock," he sighed, "you will lose."

"Come now, Mycroft," Malayna cooed almost playfully as she continued to face in the direction she had heard Sherlock's voice from last and hoping he had not moved since that time. "You should know by now I don't engage in a battle of wits with an unarmed opponent."

"Ouch," Lestrade mumbled, "do you serve bandages with those barbs?" Malayna smirked, but didn't answer. "Well," the DI continued, "if she's going to be here any length of time, I can at least put some men on the street to stand guard."

With that said the DI turned and headed towards the stairs.

"I would prefer that none of them were in uniform." Mycroft instructed forcefully, following at the DI's heals.

"Look," John spoke for the first time in quite a while, "I need to get back to the clinic. I want you, Doctor Avonell, to start on some antibiotics and I'll bring them back when I return."

She nodded, but didn't answer. She'd accept the offered medication, but knew she'd not take them, after all she really didn't need them, but trying to explain wouldn't really help the matter. There was a quiet exchange between Doctor Watson and Sherlock, but she only caught something about John's wife, Mary. Then John was gone down the stairs. Malayna tensed a bit, this meant that she and this genius were alone now, and she found the idea of it to be very uncomfortable.

"Sorry," Sherlock said lightly, "must be off for a bit, won't be long. I'll send someone up shortly."

"What?" Malayna snapped incredulously, but he was already headed down the stairs.

She drew in a long slow breath with the sickening realization that she had been abandoned and was utterly alone in a place she had no real knowledge of. What the _hell_ had they been thinking? Or had they been thinking at all? Did they even realize what they had done? Did the right hand even know what the left hand had done, as the old saying would have it? Did each one of them think one of the others was still there? Well obviously no, Sherlock had been the last to leave, and he knew bloody damn well she was alone.

She knew nothing about the layout of this flat. She was in danger, in a central London flat, alone with no frame of reference, unarmed and despite all of her training and abilities, defenseless. There was a sickly heavy cold lump in the pit of her stomach, one she was not use to dealing with, and it was coiling there and steadily growing, threatening to snake up her spine and overtake her mind and body. She swallowed back the bitter taste of the emotion and fought to stay in control, but this growing thing was not ready to give up or give in, it wanted control and it was going to win if she didn't get a hold of herself soon. It was fear, and it was something Malayna was simply not accustomed to dealing with in herself.

"OK," she told herself softly, "just remember to breathe and think. You can do this." She took another long steadying breath and let her white cane unfold and began to replay the events since she and John had left the bathroom and joined everyone in the lounge. With a little luck she might be able to get some orientation within the room.

_Cim_, she thought at the telepathic link embedded in her brain, _can you get a reading on my location?_

There was a long pause before the answer sounded softly in her mind. "_No, I am sorry. I can get no visuals inside your location._"

Malayna sighed, it had been worth a try, but she hadn't really expected anything. Swinging the cane in a wide arc on the floor before her she tried to move forward but almost immediately collided with something. For some reason she had not expected this and she lost her footing and pitched forward crashing into a side table. Without warning she, the table and everything that had been on it, when careening to the floor.

"_So-caw-rah_!" The shouted obscenity was out of her mouth before she had had time to think.

She tried to push herself into a sitting position, but a sharp pain in her left wrist told her she had injured it in the fall. There was a sound from down stairs and she froze, unaware that there had been anyone left.

"Hello?" It was a woman's voice, one she had not heard before. It sounded older, kinder almost motherly with concern, yet Malayna found it hard to respond to the inquiry the single word had held. "Is there someone there?"

Malayna drew a breath and answered, "Yes, please help me?" she called only loud enough to be heard by the voice below. No need to alert anyone else should there be anyone else around. She could hear the woman climbing the stairs then stop at the door to the lounge.

"Oh my dear," the woman gasped, "are you hurt? Sherlock said he had left someone up here alone, but he didn't mention you were blind."

"Figures," Malayna snorted, as she tried again to get to her feet. She felt gentle hands on her arms as this new woman helped her back up.

"Let me help you. I'm Mrs. Hudson by the way." She introduced herself as she led Malayna across the room. "Here, sit on the couch."

Malayna reached out and felt for the couch, then lowered herself into the soft leather cushions, backing herself up until she was nestled into the corner. She refolded the cane and tucked it beside her, then toed off her shoes and drew her legs up, knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her knees drawing them closer to her.

"Would you like a cuppa?" Mrs. Hudson asked kindly.

Malayna shook her head before laying her cheek against her knees and closing her eyes. She felt the couch move slightly as the older woman seated herself at the other end and they waited in silence.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary**

* * *

**Things start getting more complicated now, as Malayna get to know Sherlock a little better and the assassin makes another attempt with unforeseen results.**

**Authors Notes**

* * *

**No, the word eM is not a misspelling, its Malayna's nickname, and is pronounced just like the letter M. (Don't know if I'll ever get around to explaining how the nickname ever came to be).**

Malayna wasn't sure when Mrs. Hudson had left or how long she had been sitting on the couch. She only knew that by the time she realized that someone had entered the flat she was stiff from sitting in the same position for an extended period of time. She slowly unfolded herself, dropping her left foot to the floor and tucking her right leg under herself. She arched her back and stretched her arms over her head trying to work the kinks out of her muscles.

"Well, it's about time someone got back," she grumbled in annoyance, "I didn't really appreciate being left alone, you know."

"I didn't leave you alone," Sherlock replied dryly, "I sent Mrs. Hudson up."

"Right," She huffed indignantly, "and she only came up after I fell." She crossed her arms over her chest. She wasn't comfortable being alone with him although she couldn't quite put her finger on exactly why. She turned her head away from the sound of his voice and bit at her lower lip, wishing someone else would come back to the flat as well.

She heard him move and reflexively her eyes moved to track him. He reversed his direction for several steps, and then stopped.

"Oh for God's sake, stop it!" Malayna snapped, suddenly realizing what he had been doing. She rubbed her eyes and shook her head. He had been watching her track his movements with her eyes, as any sighted person would have done.

"Either you have not been blind for very long, or you still have some sight left." He observed as he moved to the couch and sat down beside her.

"And just what makes you say that?" She asked trying not to allow her annoyance to show in her voice, but feared she hadn't been very successful. It wouldn't do to antagonize Sherlock any more than she had already managed to do.

"There is very little muscle atrophy in your eyes. You still track with your eyes as someone who can see would do, and you're pupils are still light reactive." She felt him shift his position as if he were turning to face her more directly.

"Hmm, don't know about the light reaction, but it's only been a little less than ten months." She explained letting her guard down a little. She didn't see any advantage in being evasive on this topic. "It is the result of severe trauma to the optic nerve caused by the concussive pressure from the detonation of C4 in a relatively confined space." Then almost as an afterthought she added softly, "It nearly took my hearing as well."

The room fell into silence, only the noise from beyond the flat and the sound of their breathing broke the stillness.

She could feel the warm moistness of his breath on her face as he exhaled. She inhaled slowly, taking in the scents he carried on his breath, the distant perfume of alcohol drunk the evening before, overridden by the comforting scent of coffee more recently consumed. And there in the deepest recesses of his breath, hiding in the crevices of perhaps several days gone past, the smoky remnants of a cigarette. All of this trying to hide behind the now stale mint of commercial tooth paste.

There were other scents about him as well, of course, bath soap and shampoo, after shave, even laundry detergent, but she had learned to differentiate those things even back when she had sight. She could put those things aside and concentrate on what really mattered. She could have leaned in closer and been able to feel and hear things from him as well, if she had wanted to. The rhythm of his heart beat, the heat reradiating from his skin, and if she paid really close attention, she could have picked up information from the pheromones he was producing and learned more from them then she might have wanted to know.

She smiled slightly swallowing back a chuckle, wondering what he might be able to perceive from her. The fragrance of the soap she had bathed with that morning. The apple she had eaten a few hours ago. Could he pick up on the fact that her base sent was somehow subtly different from that of other women? Could he tell that the rhythm of her heart beats where unlike anyone else he knew?

She breathed in again, narrowing her eyes and allowing her smile to broaden ever so slightly.

"What do you find so amusing?" Sherlock questioned almost accusingly. His baritone voice was silken against the cacophony of street noises from outside the building.

She shook her head imperceptivity. "Not amusing, just," she paused for a second, unsure of what word she wanted to use, "curious," she explained calmly, her voice only slightly above a whisper.

"And what do you find curious?" he asked, just a tinge of annoyance creeping into his voice as he shifted his position yet again.

Malayna raised one eyebrow and cocked her head, "You," she said in a very matter of fact tone one corner of her mouth turning up in a sly smile.

"Me?" he replied incredulously shifting back to face her more directly, his knee brushing up against hers causing her to jump a bit, "You find _me_ curious?"

"Hmm." she responded regaining her composure quickly, hoping he hadn't caught her flinch, but suspecting that very little ever escaped this man's scrutiny. But she decided to forge ahead anyway. "Your voice," she continued keeping her tone even and composed, "it's of a register that can actually be felt as well as heard."

She raised her left hand and began to reach out as if to touch his face, but stopped a mere inch from actually making contact. It wasn't until she began to pull back, thinking better of what she had been about to do, that his hand closed around hers, the contact causing her breath to catch in her throat, and once again she was taken with just how much this man seemed to set her off point and on edge.

She was out of her element here, and she had no one to blame but herself. It had been her own arrogance over the death threat that had caused the Secret Service to try to hide her away for a while, landing her in the UK's lap. And she was sure that if she hadn't pushed Mycroft back at the hotel, she might not be sitting here now with her hand in this man's hand, the warmth of which was coursing through her like . . .

"What were you about to do?" he asked softly, bringing her abruptly back to the present. It was merely a question. There was no anger, or accusation, just curiosity in his manner.

"I . . . I'm sorry," Malayna stuttered, trying to pull her hand back, but he held it where it was. "I suppose I was just wondering what you might look like."

"But you are blind." the words were out of his mouth before he had time to think.

_Oh you've got to be kidding_, she thought to herself, _OK genius, you asked for this_.

She leaned forward and up until she could feel the heat radiating from his face.

"Why Mr. Holmes," she breathed with as much taunting arrogance as she could manage without laughing, "haven't you ever heard of the brail method?"

"Oh," if he had meant to hide his surprise he had failed, "in that case. . ." Flattening her hand out, he drew it to his face and pressed her palm to his cheek.

She drew a deep steadying breath and adjusted herself on the couch, bringing her other hand up and moving both to the top of his head where she ran her fingers into his hair. He automatically bowed his head to give her better access. Gently she allowed his hair to slip between her thumb and forefinger. It was thick and silken with enough body that it laid in waves or even curls. It was parted on the left and long enough to nearly cover his high forehead, but she would explore the features of his face a little later on.

She continued moving her hands down the sides of his head to his ears. They were partially covered by his hair, the left ear just slightly lower than the right, but then no human face was ever symmetrical. With a deliberately gentle touch she traced the shell of his outer ear with her finger tips, ignoring the slight tremor she felt run through him. His earlobes were narrow, and his ears lay fairly close to his head.

From the base of the ears, she slid her hands gently around to the nape of his neck, noting that the length of his hair stopped at this point. For a brief moment she allowed her fingers to lightly massage their way down his vertebra and under the fabric of his shirt collar to his shoulders but stopped abruptly when she thought she heard a soft sigh of pleasure. But the sound had been so light and her attention had been so focused on the sensation of touch, she had not been sure if she had really heard the sigh, but she didn't want to take any chances. He was still making her nervous and she was still not willing to admit that he was.

Drawing her hands back to the base of his ears and using a little more pressure she traced the line of his jaw to the roundness of his chin until her fingers met. She let her fingers slip down his long neck relishing in the softness of his skin, which was only occasionally interrupted by a mole including two in close proximity to each other, near the base of his throat on the left side. She had known even before starting this exploration of his features that he was a tall man, figuring he was at least six feet, when compared to her meager five foot two inch stature, so not much of what she was finding in the way of his features were coming as a surprise, they were long and lean.

She moved her hands back up to his forehead and began the more intimate portion of her examination. She hesitated for a brief moment before making contact, trying to steady herself before beginning this next step. She still was not sure why she was finding this so difficult, it just wasn't like her to be so apprehensive. After all, she was usually the dominate one in any given situation, and in this one she should have been, but she sure didn't feel that way.

Lightly she brushed her fingers across his temples, feeling his pulse, which was definitely elevated. Her mind brushed against his causing a sudden thrill to unexpectedly course through her like a mild electrical current, causing her own hearts to flutter. But she managed to control herself and give no outward reaction, or at least she thought she didn't.

_As if having one's features explored in such an intimate way was ordinary to begin with._ She mused to herself, before refocusing herself and continuing her study of his face.

"Close your eyes, please," she breathed as her fingers followed the flat arch of his somewhat thick eyebrows.

"Why?" his voice was deep and breathy, which had the unexpected effect of making her mouth suddenly go dry. She swallowed awkwardly before taking a deep breath.

"Because, I don't really want to cause any injury," she smiled warmly. She felt his eyelids flutter then close. Delicately she felt along the supraorbital margin, careful not to pull at the skin. Idly she wondered what color his eyes were, whether or not they could hold a person's gaze against their will, or see beyond the mask most people wore for public display. Lightly she passed her finger tips across his eyelids, feeling them flutter, but not open, and then the long thick lashes.

She drew her fingers down the length of his nose which she found to be fuller then she had expected. She was getting the impression that he was a rather a good looking man, and for a brief moment she actually considered pressing in on his mind and finding an image of himself within his memory.

Malayna had to stop herself. That was wrong. To begin with, forcing herself into an incompliant mind was not something she did unless it was a true emergency and she was ashamed of herself for having such a thought. And trying something like that was to give herself away and put her in more jeopardy then she was already in. Not to mention putting the US and British governments at dire risk as well. Just what was she thinking anyway?

He must have exhaled through his mouth as she was suddenly aware of the heat and moistness of his breath once again, bringing her back to reality. She shuttered slightly taking in a sharp breath, realizing her own pulse had quickened. She swallowed a little harder than she meant to, but continued on, bringing her fingertips up to run them out along high sharp cheek bones. As she reached the outer margins of his face she allowed her palms to lightly cup his cheeks, feeling the light stubble of a late afternoon beard on his face. And again the impression that this man, this Sherlock Holmes, had a physical charm that might outweigh the negativity of his personality and again the thought of entering his mind flickered through her thoughts. Mentally, she shook off the notion, reprimanding herself and taking in a long somewhat ragged breath to try and calm her thoughts.

Her thumbs found the corners of his mouth, and she felt the corners of his mouth turn up slightly in a small smile as he shifted forward, just slightly, just enough that she was sure he could see her pulse in her carotid arteries. She realized she was breathing harder now and that she had just licked her lips to moisten them. Had he seen that? How had he interpreted that? Why did she even care what he might have thought of that anyway?

"Your pulse," he whispered from far too close, "it's wrong."

"H . . . how," she had to clear her throat before she could continue she was so nervous, "how do you mean?" She could only assume that he could see her pulse in her neck or temples.

"It's only possible if you had two hearts."

"Yes two," she breathed, "I do believe I mentioned I was a medical anomaly. Now shush."

She allowed her thumbs to play along the space between his upper lip and nose to the deep philtrum which gave a deep bow to his upper lip. She glided her finger tips along the fullness of his lips, somewhat surprised to find them opened slightly. At the right corner of his mouth she thought she felt a slight depression, perhaps a scar and she allowed her left index finger to linger there while her right hand drifted back toward his cheek.

His hand caught her right one gently and he turned his head to press a delicate kiss to the inside of her wrist, eliciting a soft, involuntary cry of ecstasy from her. Immediately she regretted her reaction and cursed herself for her inability to control her more animalistic responses as she pulled her hand free of his hold.

"_Damn it Malayna, get control of yourself!_" Cim's voice chided at her in her mind, it was always trying to act as her conscience, telling her what she should or should not do. "_If you don't get back in control of the situation soon you will be completely lost, and then what will you do?_"

Without warning she felt his hand on her upper left arm, light, but firm and she jumped, instinctively turning her head toward his touch and dropping her hands to rest lightly on his shoulders. She was trembling now, there was no way she could hide it.

"You needn't fear me," he whispered, cupping his hand to her cheek and turning her back to face him, "I won't hurt you." He was moving toward her, closing the distance between them.

"It is not fear," she breathed, but she never got to finish her thought as he met her mouth with his, warm, soft and wet. She felt the tip of his tongue brush her lips and, despite her best efforts, a soft moan of excitement escaped her.

He increased the pressure against her lips as he slid his hand from her cheek, to her shoulder then down to the small of her back drawing her toward him with gentle strength.

"_Push him away eM, whatever he's trying to do, resist him._"Cim insisted. "_This is wrong, this is going to get you into deeper trouble then you are already in._" It continued. "_You hardly know this man. He's rude, inconsiderate, socially awkward. . . OK so he is brilliant and that's something you've always found attractive in people, but for the sake of all that is holy get a grip on yourself, Malayna, you are better than this!_"

She was losing herself. She could feel her pulse racing, her hearts pounding hard against the inside of her ribs. Her breath came in quiet, whimpering gasps as he deepened the kiss.

"_This - is - wrong!_" Cim was almost screaming at her now, "_and_ _you know it!_" She felt as if the world was spinning out of control. "_You need to breathe._" She didn't want to, but she could feel herself relaxing into his embrace. "_You need to stop this now!_" She allowed her arms to encircle his shoulders and return his embrace. "_You need to stop . . ._" She could feel heat rising within her. "_You need to . . ._" Time seemed to be grinding to a halt. "_You need . . . This is not like you, you don't give in to men like this . . . eM you need to stop this NOW!_" Cim was practically pleading with her now.

_Oh please, __**shut up**__!_ She thought back at Cim, and seriously considered shutting down the link that allowed her to communicate with it.

There was a noise out in the stairwell, someone spoke, but the words could not be understood. There was movement beside her, and though she didn't want him to be, he was gone, it was over.

For the first few seconds, she was dazed; unsure if she had just imagined the last few minutes or if it had all been real, but then she heard the sounds of someone coming up the stairs. She touched her lips and found they were ever so slightly swollen; she could still taste him, still feel the residual warmth of him and knew she wasn't going crazy; it had actually happened.

Someone burst into the lounge. There was the rushed confusion of activity Malayna could only guess at what was taking place. She could hear the struggle between Sherlock and another man but she could not tell who had the upper hand. She felt useless, unable to do anything to help and she knew it was all her fault. And where were the police Lestrade had said were suppose to be on guard? And Mycroft's men, where were they?

Damn it all to hell, she couldn't just sit there and do nothing. She tried to get up but was knocked back, panic now gripping at her. She heard Sherlock cry out in pain as the sound of an impact against a human chest was followed by the metallic odor of blood.

The next thing she knew she was being lifted off the couch by strong hands around her throat. Gasping for air, she clawed at the hands managing to close hers around the little fingers of the offending grip, and bent them towards the backs of the owners own hands. The sound of breaking bones and cartilage was a satisfying sound as her assailant released her and she was able to gasp a breath.

She forced her mind into her attacker's mind and down into his body, to his heart, a single heart, beating fast and charged with adrenaline. He was getting ready to attack again and she didn't have much time to waste, so she did the only thing she could and tore the heart apart. The man hit the floor with a resounding thud.

Almost immediately she was hit with a wave of nausea and she wanted to retch, but there wasn't time for that. Somewhere Sherlock was lying injured, possibly dying, and it was her fault. If she didn't find him and heal him, then she might as well be dead herself.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Summary**

* * *

**The attacker is dead. Sherlock may be injured. And Torchwood to the rescue?**

**Author's Notes**

* * *

**To continue the pronunciation lesions, double r's are rolled.**

"Sherlock," Malayna croaked out as she dropped to her hands and knees from exhaustion. It had been a very long time since she had been forced to kill and, not only did it take and inordinate amount of energy, but it went against everything she held sacred as a healer. But there was no time to be concerned about the consequences of her actions now, she needed to find Sherlock and find him quickly. She hadn't heard the sound of a gunshot, so she could only assume that the weapon used had been a knife. She hoped that there had been no poisons or other drugs involved as well or the healing was going to be much harder.

"I'm here," came his choked reply, "I've been stabbed . . ."

"Don't move," she cut him off, "and for Christ's sake don't remove the knife. Trust me, please."

She groped along the floor until she found him several feet away from the couch, lying in a crumpled heap. She moved her hands up his body until she found the sticky wet of blood on his shirt and felt sickened. He had already lost a considerable amount of blood and when her fingers found the dagger, she understood why, it was double bladed. It had been meant for her and her two hearts, she was grateful for the anatomical differences between humans and her kind, or Sherlock would have been dead. As her fingers touched the crossbar of the weapon, Sherlock hissed in a painful breath.

"I know, I know it hurts," she comforted moving in closely behind him and carefully pulling him into her lap. "But I can help. Please trust me, and let me help you, Sherlock." She brushed her fingers across his temple and pressed her mind against his, but he resisted the pressure.

"I know you are afraid, I know you are in pain, and you _are_ dying Sherlock." She kept her voice calm and soothing and her touch as gentle as she could. As a psychiatrist she knew that the repetitive use of his name would help give a sense of trust and familiarity and she needed him to trust her. "I _can_ take the pain away. I _can_ heal your wounds, Sherlock. But I need you to trust me. I don't want to have to force myself on you. Please, Sherlock, please will you trust me?"

She felt him nod his head and the resistance melt away. She pressed into his mind only far enough to gather his consciousness and draw him back into her own mind, severing the threads of pain as she pulled his awareness into her own. Slowly the image began to take shape and for the first time Malayna was going to 'see' Sherlock.

Deep within her mind, within her memories Malayna opened her eyes and raised her head to gaze upon Sherlock Holmes, and he was beautiful. Here within her 'mind's eye' this vision of himself was his memory of his image, like that which he had seen every day in mirrors or any number of reflective surfaces. He was taking in the surroundings and hadn't noticed her yet.

"Where is this place?" he asked with a note of wonder in his voice.

"This?" She replied looking around herself. "This is a memory from my childhood. It is called _Nawshaerru_. It is where I come when I need peace and tranquility."

"But _where_ is this place?" he asked again turning to face her for the first time.

Malayna sighed contentedly, "A place many lifetimes away, from the far side of the Event Horizon." she explained scanning the shoreline on which they stood. The alpine lake stretched before them, the shore lined with trees, the likes of which Sherlock had never seen before, and overhead three moons hung in the sky. "It is no longer there." She continued, turning to face him. "But there is no time to explain further. I must leave you here, for now."

Sherlock stared at her for a moment. "You can see me?"

"Yes, here in my mind, I can. But there is no time for explanations." She insisted backing away from him. "Stay here, don't wander, please just stay here."

With that Malayna pulled free of the memory leaving Sherlock behind in what she hoped was a protected place. _Nawshaerru_ had always been that for her, she could only hope it would be for him as well. She paused before continuing further, _Cim, _she thought at the link to the Artificial Intelligence that was her constant companion, _I'm going to need Torchwood._

"_I have already notified them._" Cim reassured her.

Grasping the dagger, she pulled it free from his body before pushing back into his mind then down into his body to begin the healing process.

Both blades had missed his heart and she marveled at the ineptitude of the attacker, but there was still damage to the lungs, liver . . . it had been so long since she had done this on someone other than herself and with injures as severe as these. She centered her mind and started with worst of the bleeding. Focusing her vision down to the level the fine capillaries she envisioned each one of them sealing themselves back as they should be whole and undamaged, at the same time drawing what blood she could, back into the vessel. To an outside observer it might look as if video of the event was being played backwards.

As each layer of healing was completed, she pulled back to began the next layer, until nearly an hour and a half later, she was finally sealing the skin where the dagger had entered his body. Trembling and breathing heavily, she let Sherlock slip from her grasp and slumped to the floor too weak to remember that she had left him inside her mind, or aware when he was able to pull free enough to cradle her in his lap.

By the time the Torchwood van pulled up in front of 221 Baker Street it had been a mere two hours and ten minutes since they had received the notice from the C.I.M. (the Central Intelligence Matrix) that Doctor Malayna Avonell would be in need of the team's assistance. Captain Jack Harkness had wasted no time getting the team out of the Hub and on their way. It had been nearly eighteen months since the team had seen Doctor Avonell, and then it had only been a brief visit. None of them had even known that she had been in country before Cim had notified them via Tosh's computer of the impending emergency at 221B Baker Street in central London.

They had made the one hundred fifty one mile trip in record time due, in no small part, to Cim's intervention, Jack was sure. They had encountered no red lights, no traffic backups of any kind, and he was sure that all the CCTV cameras on their rout had inexplicably malfunctioned as they had come into range. It was just the way Cim worked, and Jack had been just as impressed, and even a bit jealous, as ever at the AI's devotion to the protection of the Doctor's well being.

Now the five of them stood in front of the door waiting impatiently for someone to answer. Jack pounded his fist against the door again with enough force that the knocker bounced in counterpoint to his insistence.

"If no one answers, I'm breaking it down." Jack announced loud enough that people passing turned to stare at them.

"Hold on one bloody minute." A man shouted from the street. Jack turned to see a sandy haired man getting out of a car along with a rather attractive blond woman emerging from the passenger side of the same car. "Just who the hell are you people?"

"Can you get in here?" Jack demanded as the rest of the team moved aside to allow the new comer access to the door.

"Who are you?" John returned Jack's question taking in the taller man's appearance, and the WWII Great Coat he wore.

"Torchwood," Jack snapped pulling his coat opened just enough to expose the gun strapped to his right hip. "And if you don't mind hurrying, there is a woman inside who may be dying."

Mary gasped at the mention of Torchwood and gripped her husband's arm a little tighter. John fumbled with the keys but managed to get the door opened. But before he could enter, he was pushed roughly aside.

"Which is B?" Jack demanded looming over John his eyes boring into the shorter man with such intensity that it made it hard for John to respond.

"Upstairs." It was Mary who answered, and then turning to John she continued in a low voice, "I'm sorry John, but I think I know what's going on, and it is for the best."

Jack was the first to enter the lounge and what he found both surprised him, and made perfect sense to him. On the far side of the room a burly man laid on the floor, still clutching at his chest, his eyes wide his mouth gaping, but unquestioningly dead. Closer to where he stood a second man half sat half knelt cradling the unconscious form of Malayna. He was tall, lean and angular, pale skinned and dark haired and his eyes stared unfocused, the front of his shirt and suit were covered with drying blood. Not far from this man and the unconscious Malayna, lying on the floor, was a knife with two blades.

"Tosh, computer over there on the desk," Jack order, pointing to were Sherlock's computer lay.

The petite Asian woman scrambled to the indicated location and opened the notebook computer she had brought with her and began furiously working the keyboard.

"Jesus," John exclaimed as he entered the room, taking in the scene before him. He started for Sherlock and Malayna, but was stopped by Ianto who grabbed him firmly by the arms. "I'm a Doctor," he protested trying to pull himself free from the other man's grip, which was far stronger then he would have guessed.

"So am I," Owen informed him, looking up at John as he and Gwen moved the coffee table away from in front of the couch.

"That one's dead." Jack said indicating the burly man. "An autopsy will show a massive myocardial rupture."

"A tear in the heart muscle," Owen explained moving to join Jack, and picking up the dagger as he did. "Nasty thing." He added examining it.

"I know what that means!" John protested, "But Sherlock's been injured."

"Is that his name?" Jack smiled as he squatted down in front of Sherlock and studied him.

"She's already healed him." Mary's voice was low and shaking slightly.

Jack looked up and grinned broadly, "You know the good Doctor then?"

Mary nodded and swallowed hard. "Yes, I worked with her for several years." She answered Jack, then turning to her husband she added, "John, Malayna saved my life on more than one occasion. And she was the one who help me get out of . . . 'The Company'."

"Yes, well she and I have a bit of a history as well," Jack offered before turning his attention back to Malayna. He reached out to take her from the man who now held her but Sherlock scowled at Jack and drew Malayna closer to him.

"Sherlock, Doctor Avonell needs our help now, but we can't do anything for her unless you let us have her." Jack said as calmly as he could.

Sherlock shook his head, his eyes still somewhat glazed over.

"I need to listen to her hearts," Owen tried holding up his stethoscope, "but I can't if you are holding her." But this didn't seem to make any difference.

Jack peered into Sherlock's eyes for a moment. "I think they are still in _ly'meer_." He observed. "That may be why he's so reluctant to let go of her."

"In a what?" John asked trying again to get out of Ianto's grasp again failing.

"It's kind of like a Vulcan mind meld." Mary explained, "She has to establish one to facilitate a healing. It's complicated to explain."

Jack reached out and put his hand under Sherlock's chin and lifted his head to meet his eyes and for the first time Sherlock seemed to actually see Jack.

Jack took the opportunity and lifted Malayna from Sherlock's arms and carried her to the couch.

"Ianto, Gwen get him into a chair." He instructed as he and Owen settled the Doctor onto the couch.

Owen put the stethoscope into his ears and proceeded to check the Doctor's hearts. John took the opportunity to get to Sherlock and check him over as well. Much to his relief and in spite of the amount of dried blood there were no wounds that he could find. But Sherlock seemed oblivious to what was happening around him.

"Tosh," Jack said walking over to where she sat still tapping away at the computer keyboard, "have you been able to contact the C.I.M.?"

"No." The Asian woman replied never taking her eyes off the computer's screen.

"You won't," Mary informed them, "Cim will contact you, but only when she determines there is a need."

Jack turned and regarded Mary with a sly smile.

"We have a problem." Owen interrupted. "I'm not getting any heart sounds on the right side."

Jack was at the couch in only a couple of strides and helping Owen roll Malayna to her side. Jack giving her a sharp slap on the back, after which Owen again listened, but shook his head.

Jack motioned to Ianto and Gwen both of whom joined him and conferred with him in hushed tones for several moments, before Ianto walked calmly over to John and seized him by the arms and pulled him away from Sherlock while Gwen backhanded Sherlock across the face, and Malayna gasped in response.

"I got a flutter," Owen said looking up at Jack, "but that was it."

Jack got up and strode over to Sherlock and grabbed the man by the chin, and looked at where Gwen had hit him. "No swelling or bruising." He noted with distain. "They are still connected." He drew his hand back to strike Sherlock again.

"No wait," Mary cried, "let me try."

"I know what I'm doing," Jack informed her, "Malayna and I do have a bit of a history together."

"Yes, well so do I." Mary pushed him out of the way knelt down in front of Sherlock. "And you," she shot a look at Ianto, "let go of my husband."

"Jack," Tosh called from her position at the computer. Jack joined her to peer at the screen. There on screen it simply said:

Allow this guidance. Once positioned use shock. Do not hit again. CIM

Jack raised an eye brow, nodding knowingly, and watched Mary with a bit of more respect.

"Sherlock," Mary was talking to him in a soft voice, looking up at him, her hands resting lightly on his knees. "You need to let go of eM now. You know how to do that don't you?"

He looked back at her but it seemed to take him a long time to understand what she had asked him. Finally he shook his head.

"Where are you?" She asked him gently.

"I don't know." Sherlock breathed back to her.

"Did she take you somewhere?" She asked keeping eye contact even though he tried to look away. "Where did eM take you, Sherlock?"

"Naw . . . Naw . . ." he trailed off his eyes glazing over again.

"_Nawshaerru_, did she take you to _Nawshaerru_?" Mary sounded hopeful. "Are you there now?"

Sherlock closed his eyes and formed the word "No", but said nothing.

"OK, you need to find your way back there." Mary continued soothingly. She glanced back toward John for support. John moved to stand beside her, not really sure what he could do. She seemed to know more about what was going on than he did. She continued. "Can you find your way back to where Malayna left you?" Sherlock nodded slowly. "OK, you find your way back to _Nawshaerru_ and let me know when you get there and we'll let eM go, OK? Can you do that Sherlock?" He nodded again, his eyes still closed.

After a minute or so, Sherlock seemed to relax a bit. "Are you there?" Mary asked softly. He nodded again.

Jack walked back over to stand beside the chair where Sherlock sat. "Malayna and I have quite a history, but she's never shown me this _Nawshaerru_." He said offhandedly.

"That's the third time you've said that." Mary snapped obviously annoyed with Jack, looking up at him with a glare that could have killed. "Would you care to explain just what you mean by the two of you 'have a history'?"

Jack smiled broadly narrowing his eyes and glancing over to Ianto to give him a quick wink before continuing. "She and I were once deeply, madly in love . . ." Sherlock's eyes snapped open and he turned to glare at Jack who squatted down and leaned on the arm of the chair looking directly into Sherlock's eyes. ". . . with the same man. Owen?" he called.

"Nothing," Owen answered.

Before anyone could do anything else Jack took Sherlock's face in both hands and kissed him squarely on the mouth. Every one gasped at this move, but it was Owen's cry of delight that made the room fall into complete silence.

Like a drowning victim Malayna was gasping for air, once twice, three times. Jack stood back up and placed a hand on the bewildered Sherlock's shoulder and gave him a little pat.

"Sorry, nothing personal." He explained, "But I was advised to shock rather than hit." He moved around Mary and John and returned to the couch.

Owen removed the stethoscope from his ears and looped it around his neck before easing Doctor Avonell back onto her back.

"She's fine now. Both hearts are beating now, slowly but they are separated now, she should be out for at least twelve to fourteen hours but she'll be OK in the end."

"Would someone please tell me just what the _hell_ is going on here!" John demanded as he rounded on Jack. "And just who the _hell _are you and _what _is Torchwood?"

"Jack," Tosh interrupted before anyone else could say anything and just as the sound of sirens could be heard several blocks away. "It's the CIM again. It says it can't hold off the authorities any longer."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary**

**Malayna's recovery has an added benefit. **

The sirens were getting closer now. Jack scanned the room thinking quickly and making up his mind resolutely as he always did.

"Owen, you're staying here with me. Ianto, get the rest of the team back to the Hub," Jack order, "Tosh, continue trying to get as much information from the C.I.M. as you can. Gwen try to get hold of someone, anyone from the Warehouse, I think they are up to number 13 by now. It's run by the American Secret Service. I want to know _why_ we were _not_ notified that Doctor Avonell was in the UK. Ianto see if you can find any information on one Dorian Sepphoris. You're probably going to have to really dig deep for anything so be creative."

"You don't really think Dorian is behind this?" Mary asked incredulously.

"It's a double bladed dagger, who else could it be." Jack replied briskly as he turned back in time to see Sherlock try to get unsteadily to his feet.

"Oh no, pretty boy," he said striding back over to the chair where Sherlock had been sitting, "you're still to week for any of that." He pushed him back into the chair. He turned to his team. "Come on guys, places to go, people to contact."

Tosh closed up her computer and the rest of the team were out of the flat soon after.

"Look, if there are going to be people in here," Owen said closing up his med kit, "I'd really like to move her somewhere quiet."

Jack turned to Sherlock, Mary and John with a questioning look.

"Yeah, my old room is upstairs." John said indicating the stairwell.

"You use to live with this one?" Jack chided raising an eyebrow and giving John a lopsided smile, "Lucky you."

John rolled his eyes but before he could say anything Sherlock tried to stand again.

"Look, I was serious," Jack said pushing him back into the chair, "that was a rather abrupt separation and you're going to be a bit shaky for a while. It would be best if you just stay put for the next half hour or so."

"No," Sherlock protested his speech a bit slow and thick, "the room upstairs is too far away, put her in my room. It will be easier to keep an eye on her there."

"He has a point." Jack admitted as he removed his coat and tossed it into the chair across from Sherlock, before returning to the couch. He lifted Malayna into his arms and turned to John. "Show me where."

Sherlock struggled to his feet and took an unsteady step, but it was John who pushed him back into the chair this time.

"Boy he is obstinate," Jack commented adjusting the burden in his arms into a more comfortable hold.

"You have no idea." John told him. "How long is he going to be like this?"

"Only another twenty to thirty minutes." Owen replied. "Less if he's in good physical shape."

"I just want to change my clothes." Sherlock complained, slurring his words just a little.

"That's probably not a bad idea." Mary agreed. "I can take them back," she continued turning to John who nodded, glancing toward the windows then back at Sherlock.

Mary led Jack and Owen back to the bedroom and while Jack was busy arranging Malayna on the bed Owen caught Mary as she pulled a dark blue shirt from the wardrobe.

"You seem to know a lot about Doctor Avonell." He noted keeping his voice low.

She nodded. "I've worked with her in the past, but beyond that I can't say any more."

"Have you been through one of these healing aftermaths?" He pushed glancing at Jack who appeared to have not noticed his and Mary's exchange.

"Yes, a couple of times." She whispered back before pulling away. Owen gave her a quick smile of thanks and didn't try to stop her from leaving.

They had just gotten Sherlock cleaned up and into a new shirt when Lestrade bounded up the stairs, followed closely, but in a more dignified manner, by Mycroft.

"I want to know what the _hell_ is going on!" Lestrade demanded as soon as he reached the top step. "Thirty minutes ago the entire detail is recalled and I find out about it only ten minutes ago . . ." He trailed off entering the lounge and taking in the dead man on the floor and the bloody clothes in Mary's hands. "What the **hell**?"

Mycroft pushed past the DI and scanned the room taking in what wasn't there more then what was. "Where is the Doctor?" He asked his voice low and demanding, his eyes riveted on the coat draped across the back of the chair closest to the kitchen.

"I don't know about _The_ Doctor, but Doctor Avonell is back in the bedroom." Jack said emerging from the hallway with his hands in the pockets of his trousers. "Unconscious, I might add." Then looking at John and sighing he added. "I keep telling you, he shouldn't be standing yet."

Both Lestrade and Mycroft spun to face the new comer, as John and Mary urged Sherlock back into his chair.

"Who the bloody hell are you?" Lestrade grumbled stepping forward. "Did you do this?" He gestured toward the dead man.

Jack shook his head, then turning on the charm and extending his hand and smiling his best smile while giving the DI an appraising look. "Captain Jack Harkness, Torchwood." He introduced himself. "And no, he was like that when we got here."

"I've heard of you." Lestrade said taking the offered hand and shaking it. "Some sort of special Opts?"

Jack's smile broadened. "Some sort," he echoed softly holding onto the DI's hand for a second or two too long.

"You have no authority here!" Mycroft said in a low tight voice, his grip on his ever present umbrella turning almost white knuckled.

"Oh I beg to differ." Jack retorted dropping Lestrade's hand and scooping up the dagger from the coffee table. "Ever seen one of these?" He brandished the weapon in the elder Holmes' face.

Mycroft didn't flinch and his face was as calm as ever, but John saw his body tense just a little. Was it anger, or intimidation? John didn't think Mycroft was capable of being intimidated, but then ever since he and Sherlock had met, many of the things he had once thought of as being impossible had been proven to be quite possible.

"I was told specifically to _not_ allow Torchwood to become involved." Mycroft answered, deliberately ignoring Jack's question.

"And that dead man," Jack continued his voice carrying a note of venom in it, his blue eyes taking on a cold icy glare. "That's thanks to Doctor Avonell." He took a step closer to Mycroft, allowing Lestrade to pass behind him on his way out.

"I'm sure it was in self defense." Mycroft countered calmly as ever.

"I'm sure, but do you have any idea what it _took_ for her to _kill_ him?" Jack's voice was louder now. "She's a _Kel_, a healer, a Doctor for God's sake, killing is **not in** her nature." He took another step towards Mycroft, who actually took a step backwards.

John glanced at Mary then at Sherlock, was the elder Holmes brother actually letting Jack get the upper hand? Mary only shrugged. Jack brought the dagger back up and studied it for a moment.

"That's your brother's blood on this knife, Mycroft. Did you realize that?" Jack continued raising his voice again, his face growing sterner by the second. "If he'd been Sevlor'reian and not human, he'd have been dead before she'd been able to get to him." He shook the dagger at the other man. "A killing followed by a major healing, do you have any idea how close to death Malayna is right now?" Now Jack was yelling and his face was red with rage. "If Torchwood had been involved from the start she would never have been put into a situation like this!"

Mycroft pulled himself up to his full height and steeled himself. "I didn't recall the security detail. She was not left alone, not by me and not by the Yard." He glowered back at Jack. His voice was controlled but to John and anyone else who knew him, it was obvious he was on the edge of real anger. "If Dorian . . ."

"That," Jack waved the dagger in the direction of the dead man, "is **not** Dorian!" his voice boomed.

"Can you please keep things down out here?" Owen was standing in the entrance to the kitchen. "Doctor Avonell keeps trying to surface and she's too dam weak for that."

"Protein," the word was out of Mary's mouth before she could think. The room fell into silence as all eyes turned to her. Well it was too late now she figured. John put a comforting arm around her waist and took the bloodied clothes from her.

"No," Owen said slowly, "she usually needs that at the end of a recovery period."

Mary swallowed hard then took a deep breath. "I've seen them use protein to keep her down after a particularly difficult healing. It has to be in liquid form, you know like an Ensure or Boost, but for some reason, it will keep her from surfacing." She took another deep breath and tried to ignore the look of incredulity mixed with suspicion Mycroft was giving her. "She'll fight it, but it only takes a couple of swallows to get her to go down again."

"OK," Owen was still speaking slowly, "but do we even have something like that?"

"John," Sherlock spoke his voice deep and deliberate, "refrigerator."

John pushed past Owen and dropped the shirt and jacket he had been holding, onto the kitchen table then opened the refrigerator. There on one of the shelves where several bottles of just the sort of thing Mary had been talking about. He snatched one of the bottles and handed it off to Owen just as a loud thudding crash came from the end of the hallway.

Jack and Owen were the first to reach the bedroom to find Malayna sprawled on the floor. Together they lifted her back onto the bed as everyone else piled into the small room.

"Come on Sunshine," Owen cooed cracking the top off the bottle John had given him, "just take a swallow for me."

"No-o-o-o," Malayna groaned swatting away Owen's hand causing him to slosh some of the contents over both the Doctor and himself.

"Come on eM," Jack soothed crawling onto the bed he knelt beside her, taking her hand in his and brushing an errant lock of hair from her face with the other, "it's Jack, every things going to be OK." She continued to resist, twisting her hand out of Jack's and trying to push him away.

"Look at me eM," he insisted putting a hand under her chin and trying to turn her head to look at him, but her efforts to resist were starting to get more violent.

"This isn't working." Mycroft protested as he came to stand behind Owen. "She's just getting more agitated."

"Can't . . . must . . . break . . ." Malayna gasped, "not . . . clean . . . not . . . complete."

Owen set the bottle on the bed side table and took her by the wrists to try to control her thrashing as she writhed, trying to get out of the bed again.

"Malayna, look at me." Jack used both hands to cradle her face and turn it toward him, but again she twisted away from his touch. "What's wrong with her?" Jack insisted looking up at Mycroft, "Why isn't she focusing on anything?"

"She's blind." Sherlock's voice was raspy and still slightly slurred. He leaned heavily against the door jam and he was still unsteady.

In the brief moment of disorientation, Malayna was able to free her right hand from Owen's grip and she reached out in Sherlock's direction and made a whimpering sound. Owen was on his feet in an instant and hauled Sherlock to the bed, dropping him down to sit where he had been sitting just a moment before.

"I don't know what she wants you for, but if it will calm her down," Owen told him firmly, "then have you she will."

No sooner than Sherlock was seated, Malayna closed her hand around his wrist. For what seemed like an eternity, no one moved or barely even dared breathed, until Malayna finally released Sherlock's wrist and relaxed.

"Sleep now?" She murmured softly patting Sherlock's knee. Unfortunately it was unclear if she was telling him that he should now go to sleep or announcing that she wanted to sleep.

Jack shifted so that he now sat on the bed next to Malayna and lifted her into a sitting position and pointed to the bottle on the bedside table.

"First I want you to take a drink of this." He told her gently as Owen reached around Sherlock and took the bottle and handed it to Jack.

"Jack, is that you?" Malayna asked dreamily putting one hand on his thigh to steady herself, the other finding Sherlock's shoulder. "Is Owen here too?"

"I'm here Sunshine." Owen responded softly. He tapped Sherlock on the shoulder and indicated that he wanted him to move so that Owen could sit. Sherlock got to his feet, much steadier than he had been before. Owen once again put the stethoscope into his ears and listened to Malayna's chest.

"Just one swallow," Jack encouraged, tipping the bottle to Malayna's lips. She made a sound of protest and tried to push his hand away.

"I don't need it." She whined, turning her head away.

"Don't force her." Mycroft warned Jack fiercely.

"OK, everyone just calm down." Owen cut in, trying to head off any argument before it could get started. He gave Jack a quick sharp glance and indicated that he should let her lay back.

Jack eased Malayna back down on the bed, then leaned forward and pressed a brief kiss to her temple, before climbing off the bed and ushering every one out of the bedroom.

"Doctor Watson," Owen called just before John and Mary left the room, "and you as well Mary."

They stopped and turned back. Owen stood, putting his stethoscope back into his bag.

"Mary, you said you've seen these recoveries before, right?" he asked. She nodded. "Good. I'm going to try to get Jack to go back to Torchwood. I can see that Mycroft is not happy with he's being here, but I'm not sure if I can get him to go. He's kind of attached to Malayna." He shrugged slightly. "I don't know the full story, but Jack's really protective of her. There's not much more I can do for her now, any way."

"But I don't know the first thing about how to treat her." John worried. "My God she's not," he hesitated before he continued in not much more than a whisper, "she's not even human."

"Don't worry," Mary comforted, "she's not going to take over the world."

Owen chuckled, and took a piece a paper from his pocket and wrote a number on it. "Look if you get into trouble, give me a call." He said handing it to John, and then clapping him on the shoulder he added, "She's not that different from us, other than having two hearts a few extra vertebras, and six more chromosomes."

"Yeah, I guess that's not much of a difference there." John mumbled sarcastically.

"You'll do fine." Owen told him encouragingly. "She'll sleep for at least fourteen hours and your friend . . . Sherlock is it? He should be fine now. Just keep a check on her and if you have questions, give me a call." Giving them one last look of encouragement he picked up his bag and headed out to the lounge.

By the time everyone was back in the lounge, the body of the assassin had been removed and Lestrade was questioning a somewhat dazed Sherlock, while Mycroft insisted that a statement could wait until later.

Owen had been unsuccessful at convincing Jack to return to the Torchwood Hub, and wrong about how long Malayna would be unconscious, so for the next three days 221B Baker Street had become a bit of a circus, much to Sherlock's irritation. Jack refused to leave which had been the catalyst for more than one argument. There had been far too many people in the flat for Sherlock's liking. John had been there most of the time, which was not all that bad, but Mycroft kept checking in and to say that security was tight was to put it mildly.

It was early evening on the third day, tempers were getting short but no argument had yet to break out. Sherlock sat in his chair glowering at Mycroft and Jack who were in the middle of the lounge having a heated discussion.

"It's been three days," Mycroft reiterated, "she's had no food and little fluids."

"John started her on an IV two days ago," Jack countered trying to keep his voice down, "she's OK. She's got a chip in her brain, if she was in distress believe me, we'd know about it."

"This C.I.M. you keep talking about? I was never informed about this illusive entity." Mycroft shot back at the other man.

"Well apparently the Warehouse doesn't want to admit it exists." Jack snarled, getting right up into Mycroft's face. "But I can guarantee you it does exist and I for one trust it a _hell_ of a lot more than I trust anyone else!"

"Could the pair of you shut up?" Sherlock demanded as he launched himself out of the chair and rounded on the other two men, "The two of you argue like an old married couple!"

Realizing that tempers were about to reach the boiling point, Jack tried for a bit of levity. He swept the elder Holmes brother from head to foot with an appraising look and after a moment of thought he gave a crooked smile and answered, "No, I like my boyfriends to be a little less gentry," he stepped back and glanced toward the hallway where John was just emerging from the bedroom, "and a bit more military."

Mycroft gave a long suffering sigh and shook his head.

"Sorry, he's already spoken for." Mary said playfully as she came up the stairs carrying take-away bags with the evening's meals.

Jack laughed and took the bags from Mary and carried then into the kitchen where they were joined by John and the others.

"How is she?" Mary asked her husband.

"No real change." John sighed. "I'm starting to get concerned. . ." he trailed off.

There was the sound of someone falling to the floor from the bedroom followed by a voice they hadn't heard in far too long.

"_So-caw-rah_!"

It was Sherlock who was first to reach the bedroom to find Malayna in a crumpled heap on the floor, trying to push herself up into a sitting position, in the darkened room.

"Damn, how long have I been out?" She asked rubbing at her eyes, as the others crowded into the doorway.

"Three days." Sherlock answered her as he reflexively switched on the lights.

Malayna shielded her eyes, "For the love of . . ." she trailed off blinking rapidly. Mary pushed past everyone else and knelt down in front of her smiling broadly.

"eM," she said softly putting her hand under the other woman's chin and lifting her head to meet her eyes, "you can see again, can't you?"


End file.
